Reading Schopenhauer when you felt melancholy was like taking off your clothes when you felt cold

My headache pounds and I feel weak and I have to step back almost as if the past is something that could thin the air, or affect the laws of gravity.

It made me lonely. And when I say lonely, I mean the kind of loneliness that howls through you like a desert wind. It wasn't just the loss of people I had known but also the loss of myself. The loss of who I had been when I had been with them.

Even though I hadn't seen Rose since 1603 the love was still there, exactly as strong, and now it was hurting. It was hurting more than any physical pain could try to.

And she died and I lived and a hole opened up, dark and bottomless, and I fell down and kept falling for centuries.

And I smiled too, and felt the soul-anchoring joy of being understood.

'Possibility is everything that has ever happened. The purpose of science is to find out where the limits of possibility end. When we have achieved that—and we shall—there will be no more magic, no more superstition, there will just be what is .’

The past is trying to burst through.

No.

It is already through. The past is always here.

But then, somehow, it got in.

No. Not got in. That's the wrong way of putting it. Music doesn't get in. Music is already in. Music simply uncovers what is there, makes you feel emotions that you didn't necessarily know you had inside you, and runs around waking them all up. A rebirth of sorts.

There was such a yearning and energy to it. I closed my